Jumping in the bed, I groaned out loud; feeling frustration from the long day I've had. Today was my third day on the cruise but it honestly felt like I've been here for over a month.
I rolled my eyes, and kicked off my seemesly worn out shoes. The same shoes I bought last week.
I've been up and about, washing dishes, entertaining guest, cleaning, serving….. basically on my feet twenty four seven so how could my shoes have survived such turture?
Working on a cruise was definitely not my dream idea of work but I decided to do it netherless because I needed the money.
I mean who would pass up 100 bucks an hour, definitely not me. My broke fat ass could never. Money means the world to me, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I passed up such a opportunity so when I heard that some rich heiress is renting out her cruise and needed workers on there, I jumped at the chance.
My lips slightly parted, as I pulled the head tie off, revealing my tight short curls. Immediately my fingers dug in, trying to find the source of my discomfort
This was me, and always have been me.
Boring, predictable Mia.
My eyes closed briefly, as a surge of unwilling tiredness washes over my body . Just as I was about to drift off into a much-needed nap, a sharp knock rattled against my door.
I squeezed my eyes tighter, pretending for a second that maybe it wasn't real. Maybe if I stayed still, they would go away.
The knock came again, louder and more aggressive this time.
"Mia!" a voice barked from the other side. "Break's over in an hour. Get ready for the next event."
I groaned into the pillow, muffling the string of curses that wanted to fly out of my mouth. One damn hour. That's all I got. Sixty miserable minutes to rest my feet, soothe my aching back, and maybe breathe like a normal human being before I was expected to slap on a smile and pretend I wasn't slowly dying inside.
I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry.
"You wanted this, remember?" I muttered bitterly under my breath. "Hundred bucks an hour, remember?"
Still, no amount of money in the world could stop the exhaustion clawing at my bones. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a second, head in my hands, letting the waves
of weariness wash over me.
One hour.
Then it was back to hell.
I forced myself up from the bed, every part of my body protesting with sharp aches. My head throbbed, my lower back screamed, and my feet felt like they'd been run over by a truck. Twice.
Dragging myself over to the small vanity, I stared at my reflection under the dim, flickering light. I looked exactly how I felt — tired, worn out....dead.
"Okay, Mia," I said to myself, trying to muster up something that resembled motivation. "You got this. Fake it till you make it."
my eyes were bloodshot, and my uniform — a stiff white button-up and black slacks — was tossed across the room
Sighing, I shuffled over to where they were. I picked up the shirt, wrinkled and a little damp from god knows what, and gave it a weak shake before slipping it over my head. Buttoning it up felt like climbing a mountain — every tiny movement was a battle.
Next came the pants, and let me tell you, trying to squeeze into tight, slightly sweaty slacks when your body is screaming please, no is a special kind of torture. I hopped on one foot, struggling to pull them up, nearly losing my balance and crashing into the nightstand.
"Lord have mercy," I mumbled, finally getting them up and fastened.
I pulled my hair into a quick puff, trying to make myself look presentable. No use in wasting energy with anything fancy; these rich people didn't care about us workers unless we dropped something.
After slipping on my battered shoes and spritzing a little perfume — mainly to mask the stress and exhaustion oozing from my pores — I glanced at the clock.
Forty-two minutes left.
Not even a full hour.
I leaned on the vanity, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I could already hear the bass from the party upstairs vibrating through the walls. Laughter, clinking glasses, the muted sound of some pop song playing for the fifth time today.
Straightening my shirt and forcing a smile into place, I headed for the door.
Another night of pretending.
Another night of smiling for people who didn't even know my name.
I grabbed my badge off the dresser and clipped it onto my shirt, the little plastic rectangle catching the light. MIA — Event Staff. Fancy title for someone who was basically a glorified servant.
As I twisted the doorknob, I whispered to myself, "Just make it through tonight."
Then I stepped out into the hallway, leaving the little bit of peace I had behind me.
My shoes squeaked with every step, reminding me of just how unprepared they were for another shift.
As I walked, I passed a few other workers — tired faces just like mine, dragging themselves toward whatever nightmare assignment was waiting for them next.
When I reached the service elevator, I jabbed the button and leaned heavily against the wall, letting my eyes drift shut for a second. Just a second. I couldn't afford more than that.
The elevator dinged, and I forced myself upright as the doors slid open. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls and grimaced.
"You look like death," I muttered, adjusting my badge.
When the elevator doors opened on the main deck, the sound hit me full force — laughter, music, the clatter of glasses, the shrill high-pitched giggle of a drunk woman trying too hard to impress someone.
The party was in full swing.
Of course it was.
I slipped into the crowd, weaving my way through clusters of drunken guests who barely noticed me. The air smelled of champagne, expensive perfume, and desperation.
"Event staff to the main lounge," a voice crackled through my earpiece, yanking me out of my daze.
I headed in that direction, dodging a tipsy older man who nearly spilled his drink all over my clean shirt. I bit back the urge to roll my eyes.
When I reached the lounge, it was packed. I scanned the room, trying to find my supervisor. Before I could spot her, someone brushed past me roughly, bumping into my shoulder.
"Watch it," I snapped under my breath, spinning around to glare —
—and froze.
Of course it had to be him.
Out of the hundreds of rich, snobby guests floating around this damn cruise, it just had to be the most arrogant one of them all.
Mr. St. Patrick.
Or as I like to call him — Mr. St. Cocky.
He had an ego the size of the cruise ship we were trapped on, and just the sight of his smug face was enough to make my blood boil. Honestly, the second I locked eyes with him, I started regretting every life decision that led me here. But it was too late now — the check was already halfway spent in my mind.
I still remembered our first encounter like it was burned into my brain.
The way he strutted around like he owned the ocean itself, oozing arrogance from every pore. The way he barely looked at people unless he needed something. The proud, superior attitude, like everyone else was just background noise to his perfect little life.
From day one, I despised him with a bitter passion.
And now, of all people, he was the one fixated on me.
Perfect.
"Sorry, sir." I said, back in away from him, urgently as I slid in the crowd of employees.
I yanked a rag off the bar counter and started furiously wiping down the already spotless surface, trying to work off the frustration bubbling inside me. The last thing I needed was some cocky billionaire's attention — especially not one who treated the staff like we were invisible until we made a mistake.
"Mia," my supervisor barked in my ear again. "Hustle up. Drinks are backed up at VIP."
VIP.
Of course.
Where else would he be?
I blew out a sharp breath, why me lord?
If I had to serve Mr. St. Cocky, so be it.
I just needed to survive the shift without catching a charge.
Professional, Mia, I reminded myself. Smile, nod, survive.
But as I grabbed a tray full of champagne glasses and turned toward the glittering VIP section, I had a sinking feeling that tonight was about to get a whole lot worse before it got better.